Of Triumph and Tragedy
by Deuceposter
Summary: Freewrite vignettes based on the real histories and fates of various ships.
1. Pride of Ironblood

**Pride of Ironblood**

* * *

"How bad is it?" Bismarck hissed through gritted teeth. A pleasantly warm stream of liquid was running down her back, but in the frigid waters of the north, this was not a good sign. Even after threading eight tin-fish, a ninth still found her.

"Bad." Eugen flicked her spotlight off before gliding back to the front of their formation. The cruiser's emotionless expression as she skated past must be hiding _just_ how bad it was.

"We scuttle the planned raid, then." Bismarck straightened herself as best she could, shrugging off the pain that was beginning to creep its way into her back. "Break contact and make haste to Brest ahead of me. Contact the Luftwaffe and see if we can get our air cover."

"Jawohl." Eugen hesitated, spinning to face the flagship. The moonlight reflected a hidden concern in those deep copper irises of Bismarck's battle partner. "I will go." As the heavy cruiser slid away into the inky black of the night, Bismarck swore she could hear Eugen mutter, "Do not dare die on us."

"I can make no promises." Bismarck found herself mumbling, "For I am not one for fanciful wishes."

She pushed through the pain, steaming herself south as best as she could- though she knew that in the dark _they_ lurked.

"Come, oppressors of the ocean. I shall show you Ironblood's defiance to your rule."

It was in the morning when _they_ came- the _flies._ They buzzed in the distance, but dared not approach her. Still, she knew it was a prelude. Despite the bleeding, despite the damage to her rigging, Bismarck stood tall as she sailed onward, adjusting her cap and straightening out her uniform for the cameras that were watching her- documenting her.

The hours... oh those tense hours with only the sound of the waves and the pains in her back, but she could not slow. In the distance, trailing behind her like a bloodhound was a maid- one of the royal's loyal dogs waiting for a sign of weakness. Behind her, who knows how many more of the Royal Navy?

They were stalking her like a wounded deer in the Ardennes.

It was when the flies returned, bristling with torpedoes, did the mighty warship's patience give way.

Bismarck kicked a leg out, wheeling her massive rigging towards her pursuer- the maid having drifted well in range of her guns.

"Begone, you vermin!" Her voice roared with the first volley from her guns. Plumes of white water erupted from the near-hits, dousing the Royal maid in seaspray- but the small ship was bracketed now. Perhaps the small maid knew this, as she attempted to skid to a halt as Bismarck's guns flashed double-time.

The second volley fell short, though shrapnel from Bismarck's shells had drawn blood, tearing into the maid's lightly armored body. Like an agitated octopus, the Royal disgorged a thick cloud of smoke before sinking away into it. There was no time to finish the girl, the flies were drawing closer. Bismarck spun the weight of her rigging to meet them, giving one more powerful kick forward to get the speed she would need to dance.

The air was filled thick with the malaise of her flak. Bismarck fired everything she could, but all of her training; all of her technological advantages... it was all meant for modern craft, not these little wooden toys they threw at her. In fury, Bismarck roared to the skies a vehement hatred.

The skies responded by releasing torpedoes.

The still-bleeding wounds in her back stung, reminding her that these tin-fish could bite. Watch the lines- trace the paths-

Bismarck, despite the lacerations sapping her strength, gracefully slid through the first and second lines, deftly danced through the third and fourth…

Even though her rigging was the heaviest on Earth, even though she hemorrhaged her crimson to cold seas, even though she was being chased by the proclaimed monarchs of the ocean- she would show her grace and defiance until the bitter end. A second flight dove in, a second line of tin-fish from a different angle. She prepared herself- readied for her dance when…

A paralyzing shock of agony made her falter. In that split second she had lost her footing, a tin-fish detonated, peppering the armored belt of her rigging. She lurched forward, stumbling to regain her balance.

And another explosion ripped into her from her left. Instantly, Bismarck knew that the armor belt had not taken it- something terrible burned its way up her left leg. She listed, unable to change direction. No matter how hard she attempted to kick off the water and press forward once more… she continued to drift off course. Looking down finally, she could see why.

Despite her defiance... despite all of her pride… Bismarck screamed in pain. Her leg was a twisted, broken mess. The tin-fish had bit deep before detonating.

The sliver of hope for escape was dashed as easily as one could throw a wine-glass upon the ground.

And despite all hope being lost, Bismarck pulled herself up once more. Even with one leg useless, she would stand tall and dignified against her pursuers. With each ragged breath, she tried to push the pain aside, replacing it with that burning contempt for those that so selfishly ruled the seas.

They came from the west at full speed, vengeance burning in their eyes the moment they spotted their wounded quarry. Bismarck knew her Royal enemies, from before the world began to burn. A tense but professional relationship maintained in fleet reviews and naval drills- a time of chest-thumping and bravado. Now with the shackles of obligatory cordiality gone, the Royals were free to show their contempt for the one who dared to challenge their reign.

They were free to hate now that they were enemies. Worse yet, they were vengeful enemies.

The outline of King George in all her glory, alongside the soft-spoken Rodney powered towards Bismarck at full speed, not caring that the wounded battleship had turned her guns towards them. Two cruisers had split from the Royal formation as well, moving to surround Bismarck, leaving her to decide: who would she turn her back to? The cruisers drew closer- Dorsetshire and Norfolk of the Country-class. Bismarck knew them from the intelligence briefing… their guns were no match for her armor. Her attention focused to the battleships bearing down upon her.

"Begone!" The roar of her guns masked the desperation that cracked her voice.

The rounds skipped and crashed before Rodney, peppering the battleship with shrapnel. Even as the fair maiden bled from her wounds, she drove forward still- the same mad dash that had doomed Hood. Bismarck had her dead to rights...

A scream- so visceral, so full of hatred and rage from the demure Rodney was punctuated by the flash of her guns.

Bismarck heard the wail of the shells, trying to shield herself with her rigging as the first salvo struck true.

Her vision went white, a ringing in her ears drowning out the world.

Pain. A pain she thought impossible. She could feel the warm river coursing down her face- she could taste the crimson iron that forced its way into the side of her mouth.

'_Fight_.'

She forced her eyes open- the blood flowing from the open gash on her head into her eye casted half the world red. Movement to the left and right- flanked by both sides.

'_Fight.'_

Bismarck spun, snapping a salvo at the fluttering red cape of King George in her periphery. Explosions tore at her rigging's superstructure in her moment of distraction, knocking Bismarck to her knees. Rodney closed the distance as the cruisers circled like sharks that pelted Bismarck with shot. Even while vulnerable, Bismarck tried to rotate her rigging to answer such a despicable attack- but turrets Anton and Bruno did not respond. Smaller shells slammed Bismarck from all angles, battering her into submission as Rodney approached far more confidently than before.

'_Fight.'_

She wanted to scream and weep; to lament the horrible hand that Fate had dealt her. The physical pain, the anguish of failure, the arrogance of her enemy…

But seeing King George standing there, the flagship of the Royal fleet herself… Bismarck could not- _would_ not- lower herself to such shame. She attempted to stagger back onto her one good leg, only to be forced back to the waves by the barrels of a turret.

"You took our glorious Hood from us." Rodney stood over the defeated battleship, her guns all trained upon the broken frame of Bismarck, "She did not deserve the death you gave her." Her voice was without emotion- no anguish, no pity… but Bismarck could tell that beneath such business-like detachment lay a seething hatred.

"One does not go to war and not be prepared for their own death." Bismarck coughed, wiping away the globs of red that had dotted her chin and stained the ocean beneath her. She tried once more to push herself up... to get her turrets functioning for one final salvo, when Rodney fired point-blank into her.

The rounds slammed into Bismarck's back, tearing into her rigging.

"Sink."

Another salvo battered Bismarck, crushing her armor, biting for her flesh.

"Sink!"

Bismarck struggled, trying to stand in defiance, but her body would not respond- resigned to its fate as she felt the heat of her armor slowly burning through to her skin.

"SINK!" Rodney screamed, unloading every turret at double time into the proned figure, "JUST SINK, YOU BITCH!"

How many salvos had Rodney fired? Bismarck lost count. How long must she endure this execution? She had slipped in and out of consciousness, but the cruel gods of war had kept her afloat.

"Rodney, we're almost out of fuel. Admiral Tovey is recalling us back to Scapa Flow."

Bismarck lifted her head, only one eye capable of seeing anymore. Above her, King George was checking a pocket watch. The red-clad flagship looked down upon the broken battleship, a shake of her head in disappointment.

Not out of pity for the twisted, bloody mess that was Bismarck, but because the Royal battleships hadn't struck the killing blow themselves. There was to be no prisoners taken, no quarter given, after all.

"Dorsetshire, put some torpedoes into her to make sure she sinks and then group back up with us."

"Ma'am." The small blonde cruiser responded dispassionately.

King George spun upon her heel, setting sail east once again. Rodney lingered, guns still red-hot and ready, until she reluctantly shoved off after King George, clicking her tongue in disappointment.

"Forgive me everyone. I… I could not…" Bismarck tried to claw her way forward, forcing her useless limbs to move a millimeter for every stab of anguish that wracked her.

The splash- the churning of the waters from a tin-fish swimming straight for her.

"I-I could not be the beacon you wanted."

_Bismarck?_

A second splash.

"Forgive me…"

_It's just a dream._

The explosion tore her rigging from her, superheated shrapnel digging into her flesh as she was flung like a ragged doll back into the sea. She did not feel the second, nor the third tear her body asunder.

_Bismarck-_

All she could feel was the cold water finally claim her, smothering her ragged breaths in its embrace, washing away the blood that had stained her body.

The depths called, reaching out for her very soul.

-_it's just a dream._

She could not weep; the ocean itself was tears, after all.

Who would weep for her, anyways?

The darkness of the depths swallowed the shattered remains of Bismarck, the pride of Ironblood.

* * *

"Bismarck, it's just a dream."

The voice whispering in her ear sent a shiver down her spine- it shocked her very senses. Weariness remained shackled to her as she slowly roused from the darkness. A gentle light- a warm glow like that of a bedside lamp.

"Bismarck, it was just a dream."

Warmth wrapped around her waist, cutting through the chill that had paralyzed her.

"Ja. I am fine." She managed to croak, feeling blindly for the arm that held her in place. Her right hand glided down her nightgown until she found it, partner rings gently tapping together as she desperately gripped her husband's hand.

"I am fine now."

Bismarck gently pulled from the man's cradling of her, sitting up in bed. Her heart was still racing, hair unattractively clinging to her face from a cold sweat, and she shivered from the frigid air that her nightgown did not protect her from. Her commander- her _husband_\- looked into her eyes, carefully and gently scooping her back into an embrace.

She remained frozen, still trying to untie reality and dreams until, inevitably, the shackles melted away as they always did. Her husband's arms, desperate and protective, had loosened when she finally leant into him, gently nuzzling herself firmly into place.

"Just a dream of another life." She mumbled, returning the embrace, "A dream of a proud, yet terrible and short life."


	2. The Soul of the Union

**The Soul of the Union**

* * *

The Eagle Union's carrier strike force steamed forward. Every single ship in the fleet knew that somewhere out beyond the horizon was the most hated enemy- the aircraft carriers that had struck the most infamous blow in history. Scout flights had spotted the main Sakuran task force near Midway, those treacherous witches having already having sent flights against the island garrison. With their planes distracted, it was the time to strike; the battle hinged on the Union carriers not being identified yet.

"Everyone! Today we will avenge our fallen friends at Pearl Harbor!" The fleet's flagship, Yorktown, held aloft her eagle, the very symbol of the Union, and the manifestation of her power as a carrier.

A cheer went up among their escorts, the destroyers and cruisers shaking themselves out and readying for battle. Yorktown's younger sisters Enterprise and Hornet were already prepared- they had been since the morning when the scout planes had come in. The enemy fleet may have had no idea what was about to hit them, but there was no time to plan the attack any further- they had to launch as soon as they could.

"Ready?" Yorktown had turned to sisters, the fire in their eyes speaking volumes more than their words ever could.

Yorktown released the first wave of TBD's, her sisters' following suit. The fighters they had scrambled earlier were set as an anti-air net, but each of the carriers diverted parts of their flights to serve as escorts- at least until the fighters had reached the edge of their feasible deployment.

And because of that reliance upon hope rather than procedure, only three of Yorktown's torpedo flight had returned.

Of the forty-one deployed by the three sisters, only six had returned. Yorktown wept for her sister Hornet, for not a single one of her precious bombers had made it back- Yorktown knew that pain well. In Yorktown's haste and hopes to score an easy kill, she had certainly underestimated the power of the Sakuran carriers. Still, the three sisters did not give any sign to the fleet that their first sortie was a catastrophic loss- the escorting destroyers and cruisers needed to remain vigilant and any bad news could be devastating morale-wise.

"Aim high!" Yorktown ordered, readying her next flight of dive bombers upon her rigging. Hornet and Enterprise copied her, wordlessly expressing faith in their older sister's judgement.

The Sakuran planes would be low to the water after engaging the torpedo bombers, it was doubtable that they would be able to intercept up high with equal force again.

"Launch!"

The flights took the to sky. Yorktown could close her eyes and feel them- each a small extension of her very spirit. It was the closest she would ever get to flying, and how she relished the chance to do so. She missed the days before the world was consumed in conflict- when she could sent out flights and simply… enjoy the ocean in all its vast beauty.

To soar above the fleet, to dazzle and delight them with that spirit of freedom that so often perched on her rigging. Even during her peacekeeping tours when the Union was still a neutral country, she could remember seeing through the eyes of her eagle all of the smiles and happiness of the Pacific Fleet.

And with those eagle-eyes, she had spotted the Sakuran task force. Sitting center of their formation, four figures upon that vast swell of blue- rigging all bearing that hated symbol of the Sakura- the red dot of betrayal and cowardice.

Hiryuu, Soryuu, Akagi, and Kaga. Four of the Infamous Six. Every Union sailor and ship knew their names, knew their faces, and _dreamt_ of the day they would be sunk. Today would be the day that Yorktown and her sisters would strike their names from the Sakuran roster.

Yorktown did not hesitate.

She threw her arm down, willing her dive bombers into their attack run- the very manifestation of a eagle diving upon its prey. Enterprise's flight had joined in her strike as well, the full weight of vengeance to fall upon the head of Soryuu.

The blue-haired woman was the first to react, eyes going as wide as those spectacles she wore. Her fighters were too low, and even as she swung her arms to will her spirits to intercept, those long ears of hers drooped, perhaps understanding what was about to happen. She knew it was too late, and was attempting to draw her rigging in front of her to take the coming blows.

Bombs whistled and explosions shattered the calm of the ocean.

From her distant vantage, Yorktown saw the battered body of Soryuu hit the water face first, her once-fine robes aflame as she silently screamed. As the flight pulled back up to altitude, Yorktown could see that Kaga shared the same fate as Soryuu, consumed by fire.

"Hah! Scratch two of the four!" Hornet cheered, pulling her full attentions back amongst the sisters.

"I definitely hit Akagi as well. She was bleeding." Enterprise nodded, not sharing Hornet's full enthusiasm. Still, Enterprise seemed to breath a deep sigh of relief; the risk that the sisters had taken to launch such a sudden, unprepared attack had worked out in their benefit in the end.

"The next flight will finish them off." Yorktown reassured herself. It all seemed so simple because they had caught the carrier group off-guard. As long as they remained calm, they could press their advantage without out any risk.

"Enterprise, Hornet, move out to the flank and attack them from a different angle. Just because they are burning doesn't mean they don't have flight in the air." Yorktown directed. Her sisters, ever eager to finish the battle decisively, kicked out with their escorts, both racing the other to see who could get in position first. Their morale was high; after all, they had decisively struck three of the greatest enemies of the Union in a matter of minutes.

Yorktown looked to the sky once again, sensing the spirit of her returning planes. There was another feeling though- a shadow encroaching upon Yorktown and her sisters. It had unsettled her enough to send them away.

"Kaga and Soryuu will burn, Akagi is wounded… what about Hiryuu?"

The shock of her revelation struck Yorktown in the gut. No one had hit Hiryuu.

"Focus your defenses!" Yorktown screamed to her sisters in the distance while she moved her own fighters to defense. They might have been too far to hear, or too distracted in their victory. The buzz of engines chopped the air: it wasn't her flight.

Hiryuu's planes had followed the sister's flights right back to their carrier group. Anti-air fire from her escorts had opened up upon realizing the same exact thing.

Yorktown had to focus, she had to command her fighters. Enterprise and Hornet were experienced now, they could defend themselves without their big sister's help. Yorktown drew her fighters into a net, trying to catch as many of the Sakuran planes as possible.

She had gambled on Hiryuu's flights being thinned between the three carriers, but the full counter-attack came for Yorktown.

The swarm began, the buzz of planes scrambling with planes as Hiryuu's flight met the defensive net Yorktown had set. Planes burned, flak-fire and tracers from the escort ships filled the air…

And still three planes made it through. Yorktown stared up at the tiny dots diving upon her slowly growing wings as they neared.

In that brief moment, she understood that look of fear in Soryuu's eyes- that hopelessness at the situation they had been thrust in. How, in that agonizingly infinite moment, she could only wish that she were a bird, above this whole awful conflict- free to fly.

Instinctively Yorktown pulled the decks of her rigging to shield herself.

The first blast shattered part of her rigging.

The second blast ripped a section of her flight deck and knocked it completely aside.

The third blast hit her full force, throwing Yorktown backwards to the sea and savagely punching the air from her lungs.

Even as hardened as she was by merit of being a warship, Yorktown struggled to breath, writhing upon the surface of the ocean. She thrashed upon the waves, hands clawing at her neck in an unrealistic attempt to force her windpipe back open.

She could feel something call her name once or twice; the depths perhaps, but she would not grant the ocean's desires yet. The voices only willed Yorktown back up onto her feet, gasping and drooling as life returned to her mortal frame.

In a daze she pushed herself forward again, calling out to her sisters but hearing nothing in return except a deep, resonating ring. Her world muted, her eyes in a haze, her flights not responding… what else could she do besides push forward in search of her sisters?

Another ship had approached Yorktown from behind, and reflexively she swung the broken remains of her flight deck towards the offending woman.

The blonde hair… the white and blue uniform of the Union… the ship was a cruiser and she was trying to say something to Yorktown, but the carrier couldn't hear. She had to be one of the sister's escorts…

It was Astoria… Astoria-

The cruiser gripped Yorktown by the shoulders, trying to slow the carrier down. The deafness smothered Yorktown's words, but whatever she had spoken to the cruiser had made the girl's eyes go wide. Astoria cautiously let go of the carrier, keeping pace with Yorktown by skating backwards. Again, in her daze Yorktown said something to the cruiser, causing the blonde to frown and shake her head.

The ringing in Yorktown's head reached a mind-shattering pitch, and she gripped at her head to try and make it stop. Astoria stooped in to try and help, but what could she do? In a frantic desperation, Yorktown pulled her armband from the scorched remains of her jacket, handing it to Astoria-

Her symbol as the flagship.

A deaf commander couldn't lead. Yorktown must have said something along the likes of it being a temporary promotion for Astoria, for she got a pained smile and what should have been a small giggle from the heavy cruiser. Still, it was clear that the fight wasn't finished yet, and Astoria understood what was needed, saluting as she shoved off from Yorktown. There were fleet duties that must be attended to; the destroyers and cruiser escorts both had to have their eyes to the skies and ears beneath the surface, and Yorktown couldn't coordinate them anymore.

The carrier, meanwhile, turned her focus back to trying to find her scattered planes. Her loss of concentration disrupting the usual routine of flights returning, but Yorktown was conscious once again- she was able to fight.

Still, she was limited.

Hiryuu would come for Yorktown, after all she was the one who killed Soryuu. The scout planes reported that Hiryuu had broken formation and most likely there was an attack on the way.

What remained of her bomber flight, Yorktown diverted to Enterprise. Wherever her sister was, the soul of the Union- Yorktown's eagle- would find her. Of her fighter net, Yorktown commandeered what she could, steeling herself for what came next.

The first bursts of anti-air fire from her escorts crackled skywards announcing it was beginning again, and soon Yorktown felt her fighters in contact. There were too many holes, her concentration too scattered and distracted from her wounds.

Torpedo bombers found the gaps, streaking towards her. The ringing in her ears, the searing pain that wracked her body, the grip of exhaustion- Yorktown breathed it all away for that fateful minute that the torpedoes hit the water. Even while weighed down by her wounds, Yorktown slipped between two of those deadly lines, but she was unable to keep track of every wasp that slipped through.

Two torpedoes struck her port-side the moment she had threaded the first two, exploding beneath her left leg and sending her sprawling face-first into the ocean. What little strength she had manage to muster had fled her body, leaving Yorktown with barely enough strength to keep herself afloat.

One of her escorts was by her side instantly- the cat-eared destroyer Hammann shouting at the barely conscious carrier. The destroyer was simultaneously trying to tend to Yorktown's wounds while also furiously firing her anti-air guns at anything that buzzed near.

"Just… go." Yorktown protested the destroyer's treatment. She was struck by a sudden clarity... rather, it felt as if she had lifted up from her haze, drifting father away from the frame of her mortal body once again.

She was dying.

"N-no!" Hammann was trying to stem the blood that flowed from Yorktown's mangled leg, "We are here to protect _you_\- stay with us!" Hammann's ears twitched, and the destroyer once again spun to face a new threat, firing erratically into the water. Four lines blurred and rippled beneath the waves, coursing towards Yorktown.

"We're here to protect you Miss Yorktown!" Hammann tried to reassure, but her shells failed to detonate the incoming torpedoes. No matter how loud she screamed or how many tears fell from her eyes, two deadly tubes passed beneath the destroyer, detonating and throwing the already ragged body of Yorktown.

And yet, the carrier was still afloat. Bleeding, burning, and spent... but the depths could not claim her soul yet. She was still not _defeated_.

The same could not be said for Hammann.

The final torpedo had seen fit to ensure that Yorktown would not die alone. The lower half of the destroyer had slipped beneath the surface, but the cruel gods of whatever horrible world this was saw fit to have the top half live on- if only briefly.

"Miss Yorktown…" Hammann sobbed, reaching out for the carrier with what remained of her body. Shakily, Yorktown gripped onto Hammann's tiny hand, trying her best to comfort the sinking destroyer even as her own life slipped away.

It was then that Yorktown had given up trying to survive. She had already passed on what she could, let her death serve as catalyst for her sisters... and yet-

Why must she suffer still? Why were others dying for her?

"You were brilliant…" Yorktown choked, trying to pull herself closer to her broken escort- to hold someone, to reassure someone one last time, "Thank you, Hammann."

"Miss… Yorktown…"

Even as Hammann's head slipped beneath the waves, Yorktown held on, just for a moment longer. In her final ounces of life, she wanted to be with someone.

An explosion from below battered Yorktown- Hammann's depth charges having accidentally detonated beneath the waves. It made the small destroyer's lifeless hand slip from Yorktown's, and though she wished so desperately to cry out- to scream at the cruelty befalling her, the only thing that came out of Yorktown's mouth was a dying rasp.

'_Enterprise… Hornet… please survive.' _

The world was growing dark, the tugging from below stronger than before.

'_Live on and win… so that you aren't poisoned by revenge any longer.'_

Yorktown listed, the waves rolling her over face-down and smothering her final breath. The depths peacefully wrapped its tendrils around her spirit, slowly and gently pulling her beneath the surface. Perhaps the cold of the deep would cool the anger she had held so long in her heart...

* * *

"Miss Yorktown!"

The carrier spun only to be taken off guard a destroyer slamming into her with her tiny frame. Before she registered who is was, she felt arms wrap tightly around her.

"H-Hammann? Is something the matter?" Yorktown placed a hand upon Hammann's head, gently stroking the destroyer's cat ears to help calm her.

"T-that idiot commander! He… He-!" Hammann gripped onto Yorktown's dress, looking up to her.

"He what?" In an instant, an over-protectiveness for her juniors had overcome Yorktown's normally demure self. If the Azur Lane's commander had so much as-

"He called me cute! T-The pervert!"

Yorktown was taken aback.

And she couldn't hold back the giggle that slowly pulled forth from her in a most unladylike chortle. When Hammann stared up at Yorktown in confusion, she found only that warm smile.

"Should I gather my sisters and teach that man a lesson?"

"Lets get the whole task force together!" Hammann whined, "Sexual harassment will not be tolerated on this base!"

"What's all this about sexual harassment?" Hornet slammed into Yorktown's back, giving her older sister a hug from behind and sandwiching the older carrier.

"H-Hornet, don't say it so loud!"

"No, say it louder!" Hammann shouted gleefully, the mirth spreading to her as well.

"_Sexual harassment!"_ Hornet cried out without a care to who was wandering the courtyard, laughing all the while.

"You look like the one harassing big sis." Enterprise's voice floated over the group. The three looked over to where their heroic sister stood, side by side with the crane-like carrier Zuikaku- the pair having come from a practice sortie together. Seeing the Sakura woman made Yorktown bristle, but the smile on Zuikaku's face-

It was earnest. It was how Yorktown had smiled countless times before in a life long past. With a deep breath, Yorktown freed herself of the hate- at least for the time being. If her younger sister could set aside the animosity…

Then she too, perhaps, could find peace.


	3. Sisters

Pennsylvania stifled a yawn. It would have been unprofessional, disrespectful even to do so amidst a battle for the fate of the Pacific. After all, these night operations were hard on everyone, and _they_ weren't yawning. No, Pennyslvania kept it down, her attentions focused out to the dark waters beyond, even as her companions conversed.

"They wouldn't dare try it."

"They might. They're getting desperate."

"The backbone of their carrier force was lost at Midway, they're scrapping for any victory they could get."

"Still, only battleships… who was it again, Fuso and Yamashiro? Right, Penn?"

The question directed at Pennsylvania dragged her attentions from the moon's reflection off the waters of the Surigao Straight to the cock-sure grin of California.

"According to the patrol boats that engaged earlier, yes."

Why they were attacking though, Pennyslvania had no answer. It was clear that the Sakurans didn't realize that they were sailing straight into a gun-line.

"Just like deadmen." Pennsylvania mumbled. Three years of this war had certainly shifted her attitude about it. She had come to terms with what had happened to Arizona- how she had been helpless to help her sister while her own rigging was being worked on during that fateful attack. She had turned that grief towards a new task and purpose; being "Big Sis Penn"- the ship who protected her juniors, the ship who covered those gallant marines that stormed the enemy beaches.

"Even if it's only two of them, striking more warships from their roster is our job." Tennessee called out from just past California. They were all on strict light discipline, but not so much sound- and Pennsylvania certainly had a moment of worry that the boisterous Tennessee's boasting would have carried over the waters.

"And revenge for Pearl Harbor." West Virginia solemnly replied, her sister Maryland nodding as well.

"More poetic that you five are the ones who will strike it." Mississippi spoke from the center of their battle line. That was right… Mississippi hadn't been there…

Pennsylvania's radio crackled to life, the young voice of the juniors who had joined in this ambush calling out, "_Destroyers have sighted the targets and we're moving to engage! Let's go, Fletchers!"_

The battleships tensed. The destroyer ambush was the first phase of the ambush, but they were alone out there- the battleship line and cruisers were held to keep the "T" crossed… it meant Penn couldn't get out there to help.

"Good luck, godspeed Fletchers!" California radioed back before turning to Pennsylvania. "They'll be fine, Penn. It's dark, and they're quick little devils."

California's grin could ease even the most heavy of hearts, though it did little to lift the unease that loomed. Minutes melted into hours- or a single hour? Pennsylvania hadn't so much as blinked away from the horizon, fully expecting to see the outline of the Sakuran battleships.

"_I hit Fuso! I hit her! Lookit her limp!" _a radio sizzled, the cheer of other destroyers crackling in the background. The battleships gave a quiet cheer, but it was a somber one.

_"Yamashiro and some cruisers are still coming, but we've thinned them!"_ Fletcher radioed her report properly, unlike her younger sisters.

"Good, then we can still get a piece!" Tennessee cracked her knuckles and checked her turrets. She would have to wait a while though, it would still be an hour or two before the enemy flotilla got into range- _if_ they got into range.

"Time to spread out, then. Everyone to their places!" Mississippi waved the battleships out of their loose huddle and into proper blocking positions.

"Shropshire?" Pennsylvania called out to the dark, only to have the Royal Navy ship slink into view, her grass-green hair making her all the more easy to see in the moonlight.

"Yes, Miss Pennsylvania?"

"Stay near Boise. Can't have our allies lose a ship on one of our operations because of carelessness."

"You worry too much, Miss Pennsylvania!" The green-haired cruiser waved aside Pennsylvania's concern, "I can't just go back to my sisters empty handed! We need to show you Yanks a thing or two about a proper gunnery fight, after all."

"But you're with the Royal Australian-"

"And I'm an English girl at heart, Miss Pennsylvania." Shropshire placed a hand on her hip as she flicked her long flowing ponytail back over her shoulder, "London will want to hear about my travels, so let's not disappoint my sister!"

Sister.

It was a thought that Pennsylvania mulled during those long hours of sailing, or in those quiet moments before a battle. Arizona… would Arizona be disappointed in how Pennsylvania turned out?

"_Enemy radar contact. Range forty-two thousand and closing."_ West Virginia called out over the radio. Pennyslvania snapped from her clouded thoughts, almost instinctively adjusting her guns, but held fire. She couldn't see anything, and without the radar guidance to pierce the dark, she couldn't effectively shoot.

Eight thudding whumps from the other end of their line, loud enough that even Pennsylvania could hear them, West Virginia's guns firing in concert. The blasts flickered, like someone flashing a signal light at the other end of the line.

"_Hit her, range is right. Open up, ladies."_

Flashes down the battleship line, like snapping sparks on the Fourth of July. The boom of sixteen-inch guns, all focusing on one unfortunate soul out there in the dark. Only Pennsylvania's guns were silent.

* * *

Yamashiro was trying her best- she was trying her best to be flagship, she was trying her best to follow the admiral's orders, she was trying her best to not cry.

She knew Fusō had sunk. To be left behind amidst the Eagle Union sharks that had dogged them in the dark was a death sentence. She wanted to turn around and go back, to help Fusō, to run away from what was clearly an ambush… but she had her orders- intercept the invasion fleet at all costs.

Yamashio's best was the only thing left she had to give, and so she steamed northward as quickly as she could, Mogami at her side. Maybe that was it- maybe that was all the Eagle Union could scramble on such short notice.

The scream of shells shattered that hope. Instinctively Yamashiro shielded herself with her rigging, just like she always would, even when the incoming fire wasn't even aimed at her.

This time it was.

Crashing, exploding, and pain- so much pain.

"Yamashiro nee-san!" Mogami cried, skating for Yamashiro the instant the smoke and seaspray cleared.

"Stay away! It's me! They see me!" Yamashiro screamed. Of course they saw her. This was just like Yamashiro's luck that it should have been predictable. She could weather this! It would buy the other ships more time to get away.

"Run! Please, everyone just run!"

The wail- twice as many as the first. Shells thudded, plunged, exploded, and punched. So much water had been thrown into the air that they could have mistakenly sailed into a rainstorm.

Just how many ships had they run into? Yamashiro's eyes strained against the void of the night, the horizon easy enough to find, but the enemy lurking beyond it impossible to pick out with her aged rigging. How could the Eagle Union ships do it so easily? It made her want to cry out about how unfair they were being as another volley howled in upon her. What else could Yamashiro do besides sailed forward until she could properly fight back?

"Protect me, nee-sama." She half-pleaded, half sobbed as she continued steaming forward full speed, trying to throw off the aim of those invisible eyes that tracked her.

"Forward it is then, Yamashiro nee-san." Mogami solemnly nodded, startling Yamashiro, "For Fusō-sama."

She hadn't run… why? Why-

More wails, more explosions, more screams as Yamashiro's escorts dwindled. The only thing she could do was fire blindly into the dark- if only to make herself feel the slightest bit useful. Mogami copied her, though Yamashiro was sure it was because her escort actually believed that Yamashiro had a target.

"Mogami-san _run_-"

Shells had battered Mogami- not from battleships, but from enemy cruisers that had moved around them while they had been focused forward. Yamashiro's escort was bleeding badly, her legs dragging into the water line up to the knee- but still she held on.

"No, Yamashiro nee-san. You run. I will cover you."

Before Yamashiro could further protest, Mogami pushed herself forward, drawing up her torpedo rack.

What was she hoping to accomplish? To be blown apart by shells? To draw the fire from Yamashiro? Mogami's efforts were in vain, as another hailstorm of shells thundered around Yamashiro.

The pain was indescribable. Yamashiro's rigging had caught fire and, before she could jettison the loaded ammo within, it had cooked off, blasting Yamashiro to the ocean surface.

"Mogami-san!" Yamashiro cried, crawling to turn back south, "We need to run!"

She had to have done enough, right? This was enough! Losing her sister… losing her friends… she had proven her best was not nearly enough…

Yamashiro continued to crawl, hoping blindly that Mogami would follow. If she could make it back… if she could just get away with Mogami then… then-

* * *

"_Yamashiro's not moving."_

"_Put another volley into her."_

"_Gotta give it to the Sakuran's, their ships don't go down easy- better target practice."_

"_We have torps in the water, try not to advance any further."_

"_Yamashiro's been struck by a torp! She's going down! So long, Sakuran!"_

"_Give her one more farewell volley. Full battery-"_

"Hold fire!" Pennsylvania barked into the radio. She could see out in the distance, right at the edge of her range, the distinct look of California giving her an inquisitive stare, no doubt one shared by the others further down the battle-line. "Let her die with some dignity." Pennsylvania ordered. She could _feel_ their scowls in the dark. How could Pennsylvania, of all ships, let a Sakuran die with _dignity_?

In truth, it was because she was sick of the fight. She had turned her entire being to protecting others… but if the fighting was _over_ then, technically, those under her care were safe. The cycle of violence and retribution… enough blood, oil, and steel had sunk into the abyss to slate the depth's hunger.

At least, that was what Pennsylvania thought.

"_Mogami is still afloat."_ Someone called hopefully through the radio, subtly asking permission to fire.

"And what's a single cruiser going to accomplish alone?" Pennsylvania snapped back, "Come daylight she'll be bombed if she's still in these waters. Save the shells for the rest of the fight." It was a sober reminder- the battle for Leyte- for the whole of the Philippines was greater than just this one engagement.

Pennsylvania was the first to turn her back to this fight- no… this execution, steaming north to regroup with the main fleet. Several of her escorts formed up without a word, Shropshire and Boise in tow behind her.

"You okay, Penn?" Boise had skated her way up beside the battleship. The Brooklyn class cruiser had that same look of calm concern as their older sister.

"Yeah." Pennsylvania looked back over her shoulder, watching as the battleship line reluctantly broke formation and sailed after her. "I didn't fight all this way, didn't get this strong, just to play at being an executioner." She grumbled.

Boise froze up a moment, pondering Pennsylvania's words.

"Arizona…" Pennsylvania hesitated, testing her sister's name, feeling it dance upon her tongue like a drop of cool water in a parched-dry mouth. "Arizona wouldn't want me to become _that._" Pennsylvania turned to smile at Boise and Shropshire. "To protect all of you- to protect those weaker than me is my reason to fight, but…"

"I know." Boise looked back out towards the inky black grave-sites of Yamashiro and Fuso. "No surrender, no quarter? Stupid." Boise shook her head.

"I was beginning to think you Yanks were so hellbent on revenge that you were losing sight of the war." Shropshire skated alongside the pair, "I swear, it seems like some of you want to keep it going just for the sake of taking the anger out."

"I just want to end it." Pennsylvania responded. No one could question the determination in her statement with calls of cowardice, not a damn soul could. When the argument of '_Think of those who were lost.'_ came up, Pennsylvania could always answer that she thought of Arizona _constantly_.

And Arizona wouldn't want future lives lost over something that _should_ be ended.

"For the future of everyone, this war _needs_ to end."

The question was, how long was that bloodstained path ahead of her… or if she would even survive it at all. In the end, she would see Arizona, one way or another. And when Pennsylvania did finally get to embrace Arizona, she wanted to be someone that her sister could be proud of.

* * *

Fusō still hadn't arrived yet. No matter how long Yamashiro waited here on the docks day after day, still no sign of her older sister. Silently Yamashiro did her best to mime out the kagura dance that her sister had taught her; the one to guide familial spirits back home. It was solemn and mournful when it should have been joyous and reverent. Partially because Yamashiro's movements were clumsy and inexperienced, partially because there just was no untying that sadness. When she had finished, she scratched another tally mark upon the lamp post.

"Beautiful dance. What's it for?" A stern, deep voice, caused Yamashiro to jump, but a gentle hand ruffled her hair and gave her ears an affectionate scratch.

Pennsylvania stood so tall, so intimidatingly tall as she smiled down at Yamashiro. The Eagle Union battleships all were so terrifying to Yamashiro, as they rightfully should have been. Even if they were on the same side now, she simply just couldn't shake that feeling.

"I-It's for my older sister, Miss Pennsylvania." Yamashiro shifted, trying to shrink away, "S-so her spirit finds its way here."

"You can drop the 'miss' bit, kid." Pennsylvania took a seat on the dock's edge, letting her legs dangle off the side before gently patting a spot next to her. The Union ship's smile seemed… nice, but the way it pulled that scar on her face, it made the gesture feel… sinister?

"O-oh. Umm…" Yamashiro obliged, not wanting to appear rude, though she shrank further when Pennsylvania turned those steel-cold eyes upon her.

"Your sister's spirit, huh?" Pennsylvania sighed deep, seemingly exhaling all of that steel that had so intimidated Yamashiro. What was left was a woman, weary and quiet. The silence between the two was cool, but not awkward, an unspoken understanding that Yamashiro couldn't quite muster the courage to break.

"Hey, Yamashiro?"

"Y-yes Miss… umm, Pennsylvania?"

"You think… you think you could teach me how to do that dance?"

Why would a strong woman as Pennsylvania…? Yamashiro's thoughts stopped there. They all had sisters- almost everyone on the Azur Lane base; and if not by blood, then by camaraderie. It would have been stupid to ask why Pennsylvania would want to call a spirit to port.

As if sensing Yamashiro's hesitation and unease, the older battleship smiled, gazing out to the ocean. "For Arizona." She said, "My little sister Arizona is out there somewhere, alone."

The admission from Pennsylvania elicited a tiny, choked whimper from Yamashiro. Pennsylvania had so perfectly encapsulated that missing part of Yamashiro's heart with just the tone of her voice alone. It hurt all the more when Yamashiro had to explain;

"I could but… it might not have the same effect."

"Oh…"

Yamashiro fell silent as well, letting the sound of the waves crashing on the breakwater dull her pain. The woman next to her was just as broken, just as scarred -if not more literally- as Yamashiro.

"Pennsylvania?" Yamashiro struggled to properly pronounce her name, frowning at her own shameful and disrespectful display.

"You can just call me Penn…" The battleship chuckled to herself, "I'm only older than you by one year, but until your big sister arrives at port, you can call me Big Sister Penn… if you want, that is."

"Penn-neesan…?" Yamashiro tested out the name. It felt warm… caring... Pennsylvania's smile was lopsided, the unscarred cheek pulling that much higher than the other as she glanced to Yamashiro.

"O-oh… it means 'older sister' in um… informal Sakuran…" Yamashiro flushed with embarrassment.

"It sounds good. I like it." Pennsylvania's smile was growing infectious, even as she turned her gaze back out to sea, staring to the endless ocean beyond. "Penn-neesan- heh." She chuckled. "Until your big sis arrives, Penn-neesan will look out for you. That okay, Yama-chan?" Pennsylvania gently patted Yamashiro's head before pulling herself back up.

"Y-Y-You know our language?"

"I picked up some here and there from the other Sakurans. C'mon Yama-chan, there's some folks that the commander wanted me to introduce you to before heading out."

"C-coming!" Yamashiro picked herself up, mustering what courage she could off of Pennsylvania's kindness. It gave her something new, something hopeful to hold on to and strive for. When Fusō arrived, Yamashiro would welcome her sister with loving arms like always… but when that time came, Yamashiro hoped that it would be a new family, a new group of friends that ushered Fusō in from the cold.


End file.
